


upwelling (from depths to dawn)

by lady_peony



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, canon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_peony/pseuds/lady_peony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The glow casts patterns over skin, shadowy scales rippling and fading over their arms, down to their linked hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	upwelling (from depths to dawn)

**Author's Note:**

> There might be a plot here if you use sonar or something. Makoto works in a store which sells pet fish and Haru is Haru.

Haru pulls in his jacket, tugs it up in an attempt to cover his neck.

It does no good.

He still feels the the maddeningly cold droplets crawl under his collar, sliding past his wrists and elbows, plastering his bangs over his eyes.

How annoying.

Why did he have to forget his umbrella today, of all days?

He shifts the straps of his two full bags in his hands to adjust for a better grip, and hurries down the sidewalk.

Today, most of the businesses on the street-the bakery on the corner, the noodle place,the flower stand-are closed. Only the tiny decades-old grocery store and its adjacent convenience store had been open.

After all, it was the start of the winter season, and not many people chose to stay in town at the time. 

Haru had only dared to venture out today because his kitchen had run out of eggs. And fish. And rice.

In fact, he only realized it after he had fastened his apron and opened the refrigerator to be greeted with the sight of one lonely Pocari and half of a wilting cabbage. The cabbage gave off the impression of the same judgmental scowl his schoolteachers made whenever they caught him staring idly out of windows during class.

So off to the store he went.

And here he was, stuck five more blocks away from his house, two twenty-pound bags carried in his arms. There were no buses in sight. 

Haru looked around, vaguely hoping to spot a carelessly convenient umbrella in the open.

No luck.

He stops under a red overhang and tries to shift down the bag in his right arm. His fingers are cold and stick to the paper, reluctant to let it go.

He should have remembered his gloves today. 

The bag tucked between his left elbow and his ribs chooses that moment to split in half. Several bags of vegetables drop at his feet, a few rolling away in a bid for freedom.

Haru considers slumping to the ground and just napping under the overhang until everything goes away.

"Would like to come inside? The rain might lighten after another hour."

Haru turns, the other unbroken bag tilting at an alarming angle on his right.

He sees the boy's smile first. One hand holds out a dropped onion. 

Haru nods. He steps through the open door.

_

 

The boy's name is Makoto. Makoto Tachibana.

"You can call me Makoto, if you like," is the first thing Makoto says to Haru, after helping him bring in the two grocery bags from the rain and placing them to the side of a low table. Haru wonders for a fleeting moment if the mackarel will spoil, then dismisses the thought as he rubs his hands. It's certainly cold enough to keep his purchase out in the open for a while.

He sits at the table for a minute, eyes closed. Even if Nagisa does tease him about his liking for to all things water-related, rain is different. Haru runs a finger around the inside of his shirt collar and tugs at it. It sticks unpleasantly to his skin. 

He hates it when it rains. 

To distract himself from his uncomfortable clothes, Haru turns his gaze to his surroundings.

Everything is neat, tidy and organized. Beneath that first impression, there's a layer of warmth. The well-worn furniture, the line of soft yellow slippers by the door, the multiple crayon drawings pinned on the walls all emanate care, a sense of reassuring familiarity. The ticking of clocks and a soothing hum of bubbling sounds permeates the air, sliding past a green curtain hanging five feet away from Haru's left. 

Somehow, the air in room relaxes Haru's shoulders, blurs the edge of tiredness from his body.

He hears the tread of footsteps on the floor above him, the murmurings of two, three voices. The clicks of closing doors and sliding drawers follow. 

Haru slumps further into the kotatsu, presses his cheek against the table. The melody of new waterfalls and bright summer fountains in the background along with the flowing warmth in the room makes it hard to keep his eyes open.

Haru feels a sudden weight drape gently over his head, and when he turns, his gaze is met with green eyes and the curve of a cheerful smile.

"Here. You can use this for now. And you can borrow the shirt," the boy--Makoto says, placing a faded orange and white shirt onto the table, next to Haru's elbow. "You're Nanase-san, is that right?"

When Haru blinks at him, his fingers automatically pulling down the towel to rest over his neck, Makoto flushes slightly. "We're in the same class at Iwatobi. I sit two rows behind you." Makoto's hands move up from his side to wave in another direction. "I can make you something to drink, what would you like?"

"Anything's fine," Haru says. 

"I never heard of that drink before." Makoto's smile is a little more relaxed.

"Tea is fine," Haru says, hands working the towel over his hair. After a short while, he gives his hair up for a lost cause and places the towel down. His right hand reaches for the orange shirt on the table while he shrugs off his sodden jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Fourth button down, Haru looks up to see Makoto blinking at him. Oh. Perhaps he should have waited to change in another room first. 

He clears his throat, places his hands back on the table. His shirt is still half-open, but Haru can't decide if it would be better to continue undressing or to button it back up, so he leaves it as it is. "Since I can call you Makoto, you can call me Haru. I won't mind."

"Oh. Thank you." Makoto runs his hand through his hair once, his eyes fixed onto Haru's. Haru uses the last dry part of the towel to wipe his hands, and Makoto is still standing at the same spot.

Haru flicks his gaze back up at Makoto.

"I'm sorry, Nanase-san, but..." 

Haru feels warm fingers reach up past his cheek to run gently through the top of his head before pressing down, barely brushing over the slope of his forehead before they pull away.

"Sorry," Makoto says. "It was just, all your hair had stuck up, and it looked funny so. So."

"Thank you," Haru says. Makoto nods jerkily and sweeps his hands towards the kitchen, which Haru somehow understands as a going-to-make-tea gesture.

-

 

Makoto makes the tea. It's good. 

Haru drinks one cup, which turns to two, then five.

They chat. Most of the words are from Makoto's side, but the silences which fall between them feel more like windows than walls. A balance, instead of a barrier.

The rain moves on from a loud wail to a sprinkling murmur. 

Haru leaves Makoto's place with a new cloth shopping bag, a borrowed umbrella, and a borrowed change of clothes.

The sleeves of the jacket sweeps past his wrists, almost down to his fingertips. 

Haru's hands stay warm all the way home.


End file.
